Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Morning Tea and Books

When I get into work in the mornings, it's either just me, or me and one other person. It's so quiet and special to be in a normally busy studio with laughter and art bouncing off the walls all by yourself.

I unlock the doors, turn on all the lights, including the fish tank lights, at which point the fish go nuts because they know food is coming. I feed them the stinkiest fish food ever (was fish food always so stinky?) and chat with them for a minute or two, especially since a few of their fish friends have gone to fish heaven over the past months. I try to get them to talk about it, but they just flip their tails at me. Then I warn them that they'll eventually need major psychotherapy unless they start expressing their feelings.

Then I put on some music and open the blinds to look out over the harbor. This morning is dark and rainy and the water looks almost black. It's so quiet, just so quiet, and people walking over the bridges to work hurry below me while I feel so still. I sip my tea and breathe and then settle in for the chaos.

These are the simple things that I never write about but that comprise my day, my-almost-every-day. Which means that they're probably the things that I should be writing about, right?

In other local news, I have been hit by a great children's book idea, which really, is a lot like a bird flying above and aiming poop directly at your head: it doesn't happen very often and everyone says it's good luck, but it does require a lot of work.

I'm so excited about it. I'm working on my (as Anne Lamott says) shitty first draft, and then I'm going to sit in a pile of my ultimate favorite kids books (like Vivian, here) for hours and hours.

To get me started, does anyone know any good names for giraffes, monkeys, turtles, and horses? Especially non-gender-specific names?

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A blessed smattering of cookies?

That phrase is a random story that is probably only funny or relevant to two people.

But what it represents are those moments you read something and think: I wrote that? Those moments are what I strive to create; the pieces that, when I read them later, propel me outside of myself and leave me nodding and smiling, quietly thoughtful, or just laughing and shaking my head at my ridiculousness. It's usually the latter. But any way, it's a good thing.